


Different

by celeste9



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:44:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew it was best not to be different, even when you were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/gifts).



> For fredbassett in Fandom Stocking. Spoilers for the entire trilogy.

He awoke in darkness.

It seemed like most of his life was spent in darkness. Darkness and dirt and filth. He knew nothing different and yet he somehow felt that this wasn’t right. It wasn’t what he wanted.

He didn’t know what it was he did want, either.

The orcs who were his companions wanted death. Death and violence to satiate their hunger. There was a deep-seated hatred within them, a hatred for all living things, that made them want to lash out. Violence was a game, the only game worth playing.

His hands were bloody but he wished they were clean.

His companions liked to brag about their kills and, even better, to fight over them. The smallest thing was merely an excuse for a good brawl, all the better if someone died.

He bragged, too. He copied the language used by everyone else, if not the feeling.

He knew it was best not to be different, even when you were.

-

He marched to Mordor when the Dark Lord bid him to. He marched to avoid the whip, wanting nothing more than to disappear somewhere, somewhere he could rest, where he would fight no more wars, no more wars that he cared nothing about.

He saw them in the darkness, the two small figures flitting from cover to cover. They were not orcs. He knew he should report them. They could not be anything but enemies of the Dark Lord. That was supposed to make them his enemies. He should want them dead; he should want to kill them himself. He should wonder what sort of eating they would make.

He said nothing.

-

When the Black Gate opened, he fought the armies of the West. He fought because he did not wish to die, not yet. Not here. His life was not what he wished it to be but it was his life. He was not ready to give it up.

The Dark Lord’s host was immense and it seemed the men of the West had no chance. He swung his sword wildly at those who approached him, cutting them down before they could cut him down, taking no pleasure in it. He wondered at how they did not give up. They fought on and on, though they were trapped and all hope must have been lost.

He did not wish to fight them.

He wished that he could have what they had, something that meant more to them than life. Something that was worth dying for.

He wondered whether that was the difference between them. Whether all he or any orc needed was something to love, rather than only things to hate.

He dropped his sword and he ran. He ran as those about him fought and killed and died. He ran and he did not look back.

-

The earth shook beneath his feet. The sky seemed filled with fire and he did not know what it meant. There was a vast groaning sound and in the distance, the towers of Mordor crumbled.

He found that he was glad.

-

He lived in a small wooden house, tucked away in the heart of a forest, that he built himself. He enjoyed the way his heart pumped from the day’s labor, a day spent working honestly and bringing harm to no one.

No one bothered him and that was exactly how he wished it. If he could while away the years here, here in his little house in the woods, he thought he could be happy.

He wasn’t sure what happy felt like, but it must be something like this.

**_End_ **


End file.
